A place called harmony, p.23
A Place Called Harmony, page 23
Patrick’s horse was missing from the corral when he got to the gate. Clint could hear Shelly cleaning and sharpening his tools in the barn. The silent McAllen had skipped supper, as he often did, so he could finish a project or lay everything out for the next day.
Clint didn’t worry about Shelly eating; little Jessie always brought him out a plate on the nights his spot at the table was empty. Shelly probably hadn’t noticed Patrick had left.
Clint saddled up his horse and headed toward the first building site, his own. For a change, the moon was out and the night calm, but the ground was still wet enough to smother hoofprints as he moved along the wagon ruts everyone now thought of as a road. Just out of sight of the trading post, Clint heard Patrick before he saw him. The tinny jingle of his harness sounded like no other.
“Hey, McAllen, hold up and I’ll ride with you.” Clint’s words were low, but they carried on the still air.
Patrick pulled up on his reins and waited but didn’t turn around.
When Clint was even with him, Patrick said in a cold, hard tone. “I’d rather go alone tonight, Truman. I’m not looking for company.”
Clint leaned forward in his saddle. “You sure about that? There may be trouble out here that you aren’t aware of. Matheson and I thought we noticed smoke from a campfire about an hour before we headed in to supper.”
“Trouble probably does wait for me.” Patrick still didn’t look at Clint. “And I have to face it alone.”
“But—”
“No. This is my fight, Truman. You have to promise me you’ll stay out of it.”
Even in the shadows Clint saw the steel in Patrick’s jaw. He wasn’t asking that Clint step away, he was demanding. Whatever was out there waiting for him, it waited for him alone and he wanted it that way.
“Fair enough.” Clint gave in. “I won’t interfere.” He turned his horse and rode back toward the trading post.
Let it go, he told himself. Karrisa’s right, he’s not a kid. He can take care of himself. He didn’t ask for or want your help.
Clint argued with himself for a few hundred yards before he turned around. He’d said he wouldn’t interfere, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t watch. The kid might not have any idea what he was getting into. He might think his father waited for him, but it could just as likely be Dollar Holt and the one remaining member of his gang. Maybe they were watching the trading post, waiting for the chance to capture one of the men. Then Dollar might try to ransom him for the outlaw tied up in the barn.
As Clint neared the frame of what would soon be his home, he saw Patrick’s horse tied to one of the posts that would hold up the porch. Without leaving the shadows of the tree line, Clint slipped from his mount and tied the pinto to a cottonwood by the road, then started walking the last thirty yards.
A mind trained in battle never forgets the skills that kept him alive. His senses turned razor sharp.
Two men stood, their outlines blinking in and out between the studs of the house. One Patrick. One older, stouter. Clint couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could tell they were squaring off like two mismatched fighters in a ring.
Something moved in the trees not far from where he’d left his horse. Clint whirled and pulled his Colt in one liquid movement.
The shadows of three men flashed in the moonlight between the cottonwoods, almost as if they were disappearing and reappearing in the blink of an eye. They walked like farmers pacing off their field, not trained fighters. Their feet were heavy, scarring the earth as they moved, and their breathing rapid and noisy. Clint would bet they’d never known battle.
He stepped into the moonlight just as they trudged from the trees. “Make another move and you’re dead, gentlemen.” His words were low and deadly serious.
All three men froze. They’d been advancing without their weapons drawn and now were helpless.
“Pull whatever guns you have out slowly and drop your weapons in the mud.” Clint stepped closer. He wanted the men to see his face and know that he wasn’t the twenty-year-old they came to hurt. He was a hardened soldier who’d kill if he needed to.
The trio looked nervous and did as he said. Two stood tall in defiance, but one began to shiver.
“We’re not here to bother you, mister,” the tallest of the three had the nerve to say. “We’re on the Lord’s business, so we’ll ask you to step aside.”
Clint knew his smile was wicked. “I don’t care about the Lord’s business—I figure he can take care of that himself—but you’re on my land. So that makes whatever you plan to do my concern.”
Now two had the shakes, but the courageous one spoke again. “We won’t be on your land long. We’ve just come to beat the devil out of a boy and help his father get him back on the straight and narrow.”
Clint moved closer to the one talking and made sure his Colt was pointed directly at the man’s middle. “You’ve come to beat Patrick McAllen. He feared you’d come. Four of you against one. Right? Sounds like a real fair mission to me.” He tapped the barrel of his Colt against the spokesman’s chest.
Now no one moved. The one who’d been so brave seemed to have lost his voice.
“I could even the odds a bit, but I think we should have a talk first.”
Clint wanted them to see the truth, not hide behind a mission they didn’t understand. “Patrick McAllen is a married man of twenty, not a boy. He’s a fine carpenter and he’s my friend. I’ve a good mind to shoot all three of you in the knees so you’ll have to crawl the rest of your lives and won’t spend so much time thinking you walk above another soul.”
Clint could smell fear. Or maybe it was urine.
“The man you came to hurt is good, unlike you three who sneak up in the dark so you can make sure it won’t be a fair fight. He’s not like me either. I’d shoot you right where you stand now except for one thing—he wouldn’t like it. So how about you all stay here with me and watch? None of us will be in on the fight tonight.”
When no one objected, Clint added, “Only one rule. If you move or speak, you’re dead. No warning shot. No second chance. Just about like the rules you probably had for Patrick McAllen. I’m guessing you didn’t plan on giving him an inch.”
The three not-so-wise men stood in the shadows and watched the scene unfolding before them in the skeleton of a house.
* * *
Patrick lit the lantern and waited. He knew his father was close. He wouldn’t have to wait long. Solomon was not a patient man.
Footsteps stomped across the boards leading to what would be the front door of Truman’s home. Patrick was aware of every movement in the air, every smell in the night. The swish of mud beneath the boards, the huff of his father like a roaring train coming straight toward him. Deep down he knew that he’d been waiting for this confrontation since the night he’d slipped away. His earliest memories were of backing away from his father’s rage, only there would be no more backing away tonight.
Tonight, one way or the other, this struggle would be over.
Patrick left the lantern on the ground and stood. He’d face his father as a man, not a cowering boy.
Solomon stepped into the bones of the house and puffed up, like he always did. Chest out. Arms on his hips. Feet wide apart. Like an avenging angel. Once, years ago, he’d been a powerful sight to behold when angry, but his body had widened and softened from lack of work and his black hair had grayed and thinned. He didn’t seem so big, so strong, so right anymore. Maybe he never had been, but Patrick was too frightened to notice.
For a minute they simply stared at each other. Patrick wasn’t sure Solomon even saw him as his son any longer. Once people fell in Solomon’s eyes they were worthless. Simply extra baggage in a world already crowded with sinners. His son was nothing to him now.
The same was true of fathers, Patrick realized. After the beating, he’d always felt he had no father left inside the man. Solomon was not a part of his family.
“You stole Brother Spencer’s daughter,” Solomon began. “There will be no forgiving for you in that house either.”
“I married her.”
“You ran out on your family.” His voice rose slightly. “Crawled away like a snake.”
“I left.”
“You dishonored me. You were to walk in my steps. I’d already set your path for you. All you had to do was follow me.”
Patrick couldn’t help smiling. The man no longer held any power over him. “I’ll walk in my own steps now. I don’t want to follow in yours. I never did. None of your sons ever did.”
Solomon rocked as if about to explode and screamed, “You didn’t listen to me. You didn’t obey and now you must pay. Even when you beg, I won’t forgive what you’ve done.”
Patrick shook his head. “No. Solomon, I won’t come back and I won’t beg.” He almost smiled. It all seemed so clear now. “To think how I feared this meeting. After you beat me until I was more dead than alive when I was a boy, I used to have nightmares about what you’d do if I ever tried to leave again. Now I see you for what you really are: a bully of an old man who just wants his way. You trapped your daughters by never letting them look at a man, but you couldn’t trap your sons. We all slipped from your grip and none of us will ever come home again. Why should we? We never knew love there once our mother died.”
Patrick knew he was poking a bear, but he couldn’t stop. He had to say all the things he’d felt and never been able to say.
Solomon seemed to swell with rage. “You will return with me! You will or I’ll see you dead. I don’t care how many days or weeks or years it takes, but I’ll make you see what path is right for you or your death will be on your own hands.”
Insanity whispered between Solomon’s shouts and Patrick knew it had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface. The endless lectures, the beatings, the need to control everyone around him. Solomon’s rage had always been so great, everyone had allowed it, knowing he could snap beyond reason any moment.
Patrick shook his head. “I’ll never return, and there is nothing you can do about it. Even if you were brave enough to kill me, I still wouldn’t be returning. Face the truth for once in your life. You didn’t just lose your sons, you drove them away.”
Suddenly Solomon raged like a charging bull toward his youngest son.
Stepping to the side just before impact, Patrick watched his father slam against two of the studs, cracking both.
Solomon turned again, grabbing a board and swinging as he charged. “Even when you fight and beg for mercy, I’ll crush you as I should have when you were born. I knew you were rotten just like all the others.”
Patrick dodged him the second time. “I don’t want to fight you,” he yelled. “Unlike you, I don’t want you dead. I just want you gone. I want to live my life. I have that right. So go away, old man, and peddle your poison somewhere else.”
“No! It is my right and duty to kill you. I swear I will.” He swung the board, but he was no match for youth. The years and lack of work had slowed Solomon down. Blow after blow swung wild, missing the mark.
In a scream of frustration, Solomon finally stopped trying to hit Patrick, but his eyes flashed with hate. “I’ve brought others who will do this dirty job for me. They will beat you slowly and painfully to death if I tell them to. I want to watch you suffer and beg for mercy. If I tell them to stand strong against the devil, the fools will offer you no mercy. I’ll see you dead before the sun rises. They will have your blood on their hands.”
Patrick shook his head, surprised he hadn’t seen the insanity in his father’s eyes before now. It was there. Maybe it always had been.
Solomon stood in the center of the framed house and lifted his hand as if finishing a sermon. “Even if you survive tonight, you won’t be safe anywhere. They’ll hunt you down for what you’ve done to me.” He huffed a few breaths and continued, “I wanted them to shoot you today when we found you working. One shot would have done the job, but they thought I should talk to you first, give you a chance to repent. But I say there will be no redemption for you.” The hand that had always jabbed at heaven dropped against the stout man’s side, and his shoulders rounded.
“I’ve heard enough.” Patrick couldn’t stand to see the man inside his father crumbling into pure monster. “I’m leaving, and I promise you one thing. I’ll not spend the rest of my life waiting for that bullet.”
Turning to walk away, Patrick realized he didn’t even hate his father. He almost felt sorry for the old man. If he’d had any followers, they’d have been with him now.
Patrick took a deep cleansing breath as he stepped out of the frame and his past fears. Before the air could leave his lungs, he felt the barrel of a gun poke into his back.
Closing his eyes to the night, Patrick let Solomon’s words echo in his ears. “I’ll kill you myself and blame it on one of my men. The lazy bastards should have been here by now. They’ll pay for their sins as well.”
Pure instinct kicked in. With a flash of movement like Truman had shown him, Patrick stepped sideways, swinging his hand down on his father’s arm. The gun flew through the air, twirling like a falling star into the pool of muddy water.
Patrick didn’t look back. He wanted no more memories of his father. He simply stepped off the planks that served as a walkway to the front door and crushed the gun deep into the mud. Then, with his father still preaching, he walked away.
If others came after him, he’d deal with them, but he’d not give his father one more thought in this lifetime. As he swung onto his horse, his mind filled with Annie and the need to get back to her.
He needed to apologize for lying to her and beg her to forgive him. Then he’d swear he would never lie to her again and hope that she’d believe him. What if she left? She might even go back home to her terrible stepmother.
He had a feeling he could have broken every silly rule they’d made up those first few weeks, but not this one. This one rule she’d made him swear to keep. Telling her he’d lied to protect her might not help. He’d have to make her believe.
For a moment he thought of not mentioning the lie. No one would know. Tomorrow would just be another day. No one saw him leave. No one heard his father’s ranting. No one knew they’d talked.
Except me, Patrick thought. If he didn’t tell Annie somehow, that would be another lie. They were just getting started. Two lies were too many. Even at the risk of losing her, he had to be honest. He loved her too much.
He wanted there to be nothing unsaid between them. He wanted to always look her straight in the eyes. He wanted to tell her how someday he’d be the best father in the world because he knew exactly what not to do.
* * *
From the shadows Clint watched McAllen ride away. He didn’t cross back to the rough ruts of a road where Clint stood with the three men. Patrick rode out across the open land, a free man for the first time in his life, Clint guessed.
Lowering his Colt, he turned to his prisoners. “Don’t ever come back—”
The brave one found his voice again. “We won’t, and neither will he.” He looked over at the frame where Solomon was now walking around the lantern preaching to an absent congregation. “What he told us about his son wasn’t true. Solomon isn’t the man we thought he was.”
“Most men aren’t,” Clint answered, then turned to see the outline of Patrick almost home. “But now and then one turns out to be more than you thought.”
The three nodded at one another, and then the leader said almost in a whisper, “We won’t be back this far north again, and neither will Solomon. He would have never found this place without us, and his health isn’t good enough for him to make the journey alone. Tell McAllen to live in peace.”
Clint grinned. “I think he’s already planning to do that.”
He holstered his gun and watched as the men disappeared into the night. After a while, Solomon ran out of steam and also walked away, talking to himself.
For a moment, Clint just stood watching the single lantern burn in his home. No one would ever know what had happened here tonight, probably. He’d never tell Patrick that he’d stopped the others, and he doubted Patrick would mention the talk he’d had with Solomon.
A shadow moved from the other side of the stack of lumber.
Clint straightened, ready for any danger that still lingered.
Only, the shadow wasn’t coming toward him. He moved, long and lean, into the house. A rifle rested in one hand as he reached for the lantern.
Clint watched in surprise as Shelly blew out the light, turning the night into silent peace. Apparently, Patrick had had two guardian angels tonight and he hadn’t even needed them.
Chapter 32
Long after midnight Clint pulled the saddle off his horse and walked toward the trading post. He needed sleep, but his mind couldn’t shake the way Patrick had remained so calm when he knew his father had come to kill him. Maybe he was just tired of worrying about death.
Patrick may have gone to face his father and talk, but Shelly had brought a rifle. He’d been prepared to kill to protect his brother. So had Clint. Maybe he and Shelly were more alike than Clint thought they were.
He wasn’t surprised to find Captain Matheson sitting on the porch in the dark.
“Evening,” the captain said as if it weren’t the middle of the night and they both didn’t know where he’d been. “McAllen made it back an hour ago.”
“Good.”
“Any problem?”
“Nope.” Clint walked past him.
Matheson stood. “Then I guess we can sleep easy tonight.”
“Yep.”
Clint was halfway up the stairs when he heard Matheson mutter, “Nice talking to you, Truman.”
Smiling, Clint continued climbing. The captain had been as worried about McAllen as he’d been.
Clint slipped into his room and took in the sight of Karrisa snuggled in bed. She always slept curled up in a ball as if afraid of the night. He realized that he hadn’t heard her crying in her sleep lately. Maybe the nightmares were fading.
